


Remember Me

by Ims0s0rry



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, F/F, Season/Series 01, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2020-06-03 20:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19471210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ims0s0rry/pseuds/Ims0s0rry
Summary: The Roisa amnesia AUno oneone person asked forWill be updated as my schedule allows





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustRosey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustRosey/gifts).



> (Adele voice) Hello...it's me
> 
> Y'all, I have spent the last three (3!) months daydreaming about this fic and not writing a single word. I was supposed to have something up for Pride Month, but I'm running behind schedule what else is new. Also because I never learn from my mistakes, I'm writing this as I go. Hopefully it'll be done in time for me to start something for Roisa Week 2019? One last note, pov is all over the goddamn fucking place. Sometimes I switch between Luisa and Rose in the middle of a scene just to wring out every last drop of that good dumbass pining. Bear with me.
> 
> Anyway, tldr: I'm back on my bullshit! More drama! More soapy tropes! Absolutely no research went into this whatsoever!
> 
> Thank you to @likevel and @Luthor for cheerleading!

It happens suddenly, as these things tend to.

One second Rose is driving home from an acquaintance’s baby shower and the next a black SUV forcibly side-swipes her, driving her off the road. She barely has a second to see the palm tree looming before her before she rams right into it.

The next few hours are blurred snapshots. The first time she regains consciousness, there’s someone roughly cutting her out of her seat. She spots blood on the dashboard before her eyes slide shut. When she opens her eyes again, she’s watching ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights fly past as she’s rushed down a hallway on a gurney. The only thought that registers is that the oxygen mask they’ve strapped to her face itches before she drifts off again.

...

Emilio sits at Rose’s bedside, both of his hands clasped around one of hers, watching her sleep intently. Luisa paces at the foot of the bed, unable to sit still. It’s been a few hours since Rose’s operation. All in all, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. A few broken bones that had to be reset, deep bruises, some head trauma. Luisa doesn’t consider herself particularly religious (spiritual yes, but not religious), but she sends a nebulous prayer out there for whatever powers that be in thanks that Rose made it out okay.

There’s a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that this is all her fault. She and Rose had a huge fight right before she left for the baby shower. It was about the same thing they always fight over: their relationship. It’d been a few months since Rose had broken it off, and after another of Rose’s “moments of weakness,'' they'd picked things up again just a week or so ago.

(“Look, if you just want a booty call, that’s fine, but don’t try to make it into anything more when that’s not what you want,” Luisa had said, waspish, as Rose buttoned up her blouse and fluffed her hair in the mirror.

Rose hadn’t turned to look at her, but she had paused for a second. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play stupid. I’m never going to fall for it, unlike some people.”

“I’m not. I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to. You’re going to have to be more specific.” At least she hadn’t denied the second part, Luisa thought. It didn’t bring her any satisfaction.

“I’m okay with being friends with benefits,” she said, “or at least as close to that as we can get considering our circumstances,” she added as Rose started to smirk. “But can we just stick to one thing? I don’t think I can handle it if you keep insisting on these girl nights that feel suspiciously like dates when no one’s watching. And then you go back to pretending that everything is fine when it isn’t.”

Rose sighed. “Why do you need what we have labelled so definitely? Can’t we just be?”

“Because it’s breaking my heart. Maybe you can handle it, but the stress alone is making my marriage fall apart. I don’t know how you’re making yours work. I’m so tired this vicious cycle of maybe a few weeks, or months if I’m lucky, of having everything working out, and then when you’re bored of me, we break up until you get bored enough of my dad to come back to me. And then it starts all over again. I don’t think that’s fair to me.”

“That’s...not what happens.”

“Then how do you see it?”

But she’d only shaken her head. “It’s complicated. But you’re not just a...a distraction. Is that what you think you are to me?”

“What am I supposed to think when you never tell me anything?”

“I’m sorry I don’t talk about my feelings all the time like you do, okay? This just isn’t something I can talk about!”

“Rose, I’m not a mind reader! I’m not asking to be your therapist. I just need to know what’s going on if I’m going to keep getting hurt by you over and over again! Tell me why it’s worth it, at least!”

“I don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late,” Rose said coldly, picking up her purse and striding out of the suite.

“Stop walking away from conversations that make you uncomfortable! God, you always do this!” Luisa shouted after her.

An image of Rose in that moment, hesitating with one hand on the door is as vivid in Luisa’s mind as if she’d taken a photo. And then she said, “Maybe we should call this off.”

“Maybe we should _permanently_ break up! In fact, I wish we’d never met in the first place! Then this wouldn’t be such a huge fucking mess!” But Rose was already gone. And Luisa had thrown herself onto the bed in nothing but her towel and screamed, “FUUUCK!” into a pillow like the responsible, mature 32-year-old she was.

Of course, within a few hours, she’d gotten that heartstopping call that Rose had been a car accident.)

Was their fight on her mind when she was driving home? Maybe she was distracted by Luisa’s words, which she still feels were valid if maybe a little childish in execution. Then again, maybe she’s being self-absorbed. Not everything is about her. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity. Maybe there was something else going on in Rose’s life. Not that she would know, because Rose never told— _tells_ her anything.

The night goes on as Luisa silently argues with herself in circles. Her father keeps steadfast watch over his wife. Neither of them sleep for more than a few fitful hours at a time.

...

It isn’t until the next day that Rose begins to stir. The first thing she sees is a man asleep holding her hand. “Water,” she croaks.

The woman pacing in front of her jumps and scrambles to pour her some water from a pitcher on the bedside table. “Dad!” she hisses. “Wake up! She’s awake!”

The man rouses, his eyes bleary and his suit disheveled, and smiles at her. “Oh thank god.” The woman, his daughter, pushes the cup into his hands.

For a split second, Rose meets her eyes. Some sort of emotion jolts through her, a mix of fondness and melancholy and something she can’t quite name, so fast she almost misses it. She wonders if she imagined it.

But it’s only for a moment before the woman dashes into the hallway, calling for the doctor.

The man raises the cup to her mouth. She moves to hold the cup herself but hisses when pain radiates up her arm. “Careful,” he says. “You’re very battered.”

She tries to remember why she’d be in the hospital in the first place, but her mind is blank. “What happened?” she asks when the cup is empty.

“You were in a car accident, but I’m so happy you’re okay now, darling,” he says, rubbing circles on her hand with his thumb.

It seems like she should feel something in response to his words, safe or relieved or grateful, but she just feels disoriented. “Thank you” is what she settles on. It seems like the right thing to say.

The woman returns with a whole team of doctors. Rose seeks her out again, but the doctors swarm over her, blocking her view, asking her questions rapidfire and talking over one another. Someone is checking her IV. Another one is lifting her arm and tapping at her injuries. She hisses in pain and pulls away.

“Stop!” the man shouts finally.

Everyone turns to look at him.

“She’s obviously overwhelmed. One question at a time.”

One of the doctors asks, “We have to rule out any obvious consequences of the head trauma. Do you know what the year is?”

The answer is on her tongue, but when she opens her mouth, nothing comes out.

“Who’s the president?”

She squints, trying to disperse the fog that’s settled over her mind. “Clinton?”

The doctors glance at each other. “Which one?” someone asks warily.

“Hillary?”

“Is she trying to be funny?”

“No,” the man’s daughter says. “You’d know if she was trying to be funny. Her sense of humor is the worst. It’s all cringey puns.”

Rose blinks. “Is it? I can’t remember...”

“What do you remember, Mrs. Solano?”

She looks around, trying to figure out who they’re talking to.

“Rose?” the man prompts her when she doesn’t respond.

“Rose?” she asks. “I’m...Rose?” The name holds no familiarity, no sense of self. She thinks her name is something else but when she tries to think of what else she’d be called, she draws a blank.

Someone shoves a paper and a pen at her. “Sign your name.”

And yet, when she signs, the name Rose Solano is unmistakably discernable in her handwriting.

She notices a diamond ring on her hand. “I’m married? _I’m_ Mrs. Solano?”

The doctors all exchange alarmed looks.

After a battery of tests, the prognosis is absolute.

“You have amnesia,” the head doctor tells her grimly.

“Oh” is all Rose can say.

And while the man and his daughter usher the doctor outside the room to grill him, she tunes them all out. She feels...adrift. An acute sense of loss for who she was, all her life experiences, her relationships. All she has is her name and even then, it hangs on her like an ill-fitting fur coat, heavy and yet too loose. She’s drowning in uncertainty. She needs something to hold onto.

Information. She needs to piece together who she was.

She can still hear them through the door if she strains her ears.

“Are you absolutely sure?” the daughter demands. “Do you know how rare true amnesia is?”

“Dr. Alver,” the doctor snaps. “I passed my board exams, the same as you. The difference between us is I managed to keep my license.”

The conversation cuts off abruptly.

“That wasn’t necessary, Dr. Johnson,” her father says. She can hear the frown in his voice.

The doctor sighs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a very long day. But that’s beside the point. I know how uncommon this type of amnesia is. If it wasn’t for the brain scans, I’d be half convinced that this is some elaborate prank. I’ve never seen anything like it outside of the obligatory amnesia episode in a downhill primetime TV show.”

“Rose doesn’t have a dishonest bone in her body,” the man declares. “She’s a terrible liar.”

Rose notices a twitch in the corner of Dr. Alver’s mouth through the glass.

Dr. Johnson shrugs. “In any case, the scans don’t lie. All you can do now is make her comfortable, avoid any major shocking revelations, and hope for the best. I want to keep her in the hospital for a few days for observation, but after that she can go home.”

“Is there a time frame on when her memory might return?” the man asks.

He shakes his head. “There’s no telling with these things. It might come back tomorrow or she may never truly recover her past. But the important thing is to make good memories going forward.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for your time, Dr. Johnson.”

He gives them both a curt nod and sweeps away.

“Asshole,” Dr. Alver mutters as she opens Rose’s door.

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” Rose says.

She looks up to meet Rose’s eyes. Something sad flickers in her eyes. Rose isn’t sure what to make of it. “Only some of the time,” she replies with a faint smile.

“You can’t blame me for whatever I did before to offend you. I literally can’t remember. I have amnesia. You have to be nice to me.”

“You’re gonna milk that for all its worth, aren’t you?”

“It’s only been a day. I still have mileage left on it.”

The man takes his customary seat at her bedside and takes her hand. His hands are big and cool against her own. She doesn’t like it. Something in her expression must give it away because he notices and lets her go. “I’m sorry. This must be very intense for you.”

Rose just nods.

“Do you remember us at all?” There’s a pleading note in his voice.

Rose looks down. “I recognize your faces vaguely but names escape me. I’m sorry.”

“No,” he says firmly. She raises her eyes to meet his. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were in a terrible accident. That wasn’t your fault. As your family, we will do everything in our power to help you. Right, _passerotta_?” he adds to his daughter.

Italian, she realizes.

“Anything,” Dr. Alver says, her voice cracking slightly on the third syllable.

Rose blinks. Family? Is he her father? Father-in-law? And who is she? A sister? A close family friend? These people seem to care for her quite a lot. She feels guilty that she can’t remember anything about them besides flashes of ambiguous familiarity. 

“I’m a firm believer in a good introduction is always a good place to cement a business relationship.”

His daughter rolls her eyes.

He doesn’t notice. “My name is Emilio Solano.”

Rose takes his proffered hand. He raises it to his lips, pressing a dry kiss against her knuckles, his unkempt beard scratchy against her skin.

He chuckles. “This is exactly what I said when we met all those years ago in Fort Lauderdale.”

Dr. Alver makes a faint distressed noise in the back of her throat.

“But of course, my daughter is eager to have you all to herself.”

“Dad!”

On cue, his phone rings. “Am I wrong?” he asks, but he excuses himself to take the call before she can respond.

She approaches Rose tentatively. “Hi.”

Rose smiles. “Hello. And who do I have the pleasure of meeting, again?”

“I’m Luisa.”

“Luisa,” Rose repeats, tasting the sound in her mouth. There’s something fluid about the way it rolls off her tongue, as if she’s very used to saying it. And with a surprising sort of comfort, she notices that she’s much more at ease around Luisa than she is around her father. She wonders why that might be. Does she just prefer the company of women over men? Perhaps they’re particularly good friends. Or maybe it’s something more sinister. Maybe Emilio is not as gentle as he seems.

“I’m your stepdaughter.”

“Oh.” Her stomach sinks. That ends that particular line of thinking. She wonders about the feelings from before. Perhaps she was misinterpreting them but they didn’t feel completely platonic. But wait, if Dr. Luisa Alver is her stepdaughter and she’s Mrs. Solano, that means Emilio is her...

Luisa gives her a weak smile. “I’m so relieved you’re okay.”

She gives herself a shake and focuses on Luisa’s words. “Me too. It sounds like it was a very serious accident. I’m probably very lucky to make it out with nothing but a few broken bones and bruises...and the memory loss. I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

“It’s okay. Maybe this is for the better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our relationship was...difficult before. We can have a fresh start now.” She tries to give her another smile, but it’s not quite all there.

Inadequacy washes over her like a wave. Despite their kind words, it’s clear that both Luisa and Emilio want the old Rose back. She’d like to give it to them too, to be able to yank out her IVs and stand up and tell them it was some elaborate prank and now they can all go home and eat dinner together, or whatever the fuck it is that they do as a family. But she can’t. She feels like she’s fumbling through these conversations with half-assed guesses on what people expect from her, and all her answers are wrong. She just wants to be whoever she was before, who must’ve been pretty spectacular to garner so much concern from these two people.

But before she can brood about this further, Emilio enters again.

There’s a few minutes of smalltalk, it’s clear that both of them are avoiding drawing too much attention to things she doesn’t remember before they’re interrupted by a good-looking man poking his head into her room. “How’s it going?” he asks.

“Good. No change. The doctor cleared her for visitors. Come in and introduce yourself. Anyone would think you grew up raised by wolves,” Emilio says.

He smirks. “That’s not too far off the mark.” But he strides over to the bed and extends a hand anyway. “Hello, I’m Rafael. I brought you flowers,” he says, pulling a bouquet from behind his back with a flourish.

“Thank you,” Rose says, accepting them and staring at them for a moment before she passes them off to her husband.

“I bet Luisa didn’t give you any flowers. That’s why I’m your favorite stepchild.”

“Raf!” Luisa says, indignant. She takes the flowers from their father and busies herself by setting them in an empty vase on the dresser and arranging them unnecessarily.

They settle into a stilted silence after that.

Rafael seems too flighty for a hospital room. He can’t seem to sit still. He stands for a bit and then he’ll sit and get back up, look at the pictures on the wall, sit back down, folding one leg over the other and flipping idly through an old magazine before repeating the whole process over again. Finally, he says, “So, amnesia, huh?” 

Luisa slaps him on the arm.

“Ow! What? I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Try to be at least a little tactful,” Luisa says.

As Raf is rubbing his arm, Rose says, “Yeah. Amnesia.” She can’t help that her voice sounds flat.

“So do you remember anything at all?” he presses.

Luisa starts to raise her hand to slap him again, but stops when Rose begins to answer. “Fleeting impressions, a lot of deja vu, honestly. Obviously I have motor coordination and I can still talk and everything, but I can’t remember who I am and I don’t remember any of you. I’m sorry.”

“Darling, stop apologizing for things out of your control,” Emilio says, rubbing a thumb over her hand.

She shrugs moodily. “I feel...like I’m out of the loop. I don’t know anything.”

Raf pulls a chair up to her bedside and sits on it backwards. “In that case, let me catch you up on what you’ve missed. Or I guess, things you knew but forgot you knew.”

It seems that all the awkwardness fades away when he’s the only one talking. Interestingly enough, Rose finds that she learns almost as much from watching Emilio’s and Luisa’s reactions to what he’s saying as she does from his words.

Emilio doesn’t react when Rafael discloses that he is a major hotel magnate in Miami who also owns the Marbella, which is where they all live. He visibly preens when he says that he works alongside his father and one day, his empire will be handed down to him. Luisa stiffens when he mentions that she is Emilio’s firstborn by his first wife, Mia. Rafael himself is his second child by his second wife, Elena. (A shiver runs from Rose’s scalp to the base of her spine, so quick she wonders if it’s a sudden draft or something.) There have been a few stepmothers in between, but no one of consequence. Emilio doesn’t blink at all at the mention of his past wives. Rose notices that Luisa’s face is stony when Rafael says that Emilio and Rose have been married for three happy, happy years. Rafael starts to say that Luisa is an obgyn but quickly backtracks when the atmosphere drops a few degrees and says that she’s going through a career change at the moment. And with a nervous glance at his sister, he says that she’s also going through a divorce from her wife. Rose’s heart leaps at this. She doesn’t know why. He, himself, is married to a woman named Petra. Oh, and that he’s going to be a father even though he thought he’d never be after his cancer. It was a surprise. And it’s through surrogate. Rose squints at this. Those two statements don’t seem to add up. Everyone seems uncomfortable because of this but she doesn’t understand why.

“And that’s pretty much the gist of it.” He looks at his father and sister. “Did I miss anything important?”

“Nope, I think you covered all the major points,” Luisa says stiffly.

“Damn, is it nine already?” Rafael says suddenly, catching sight of his watch and moving to stand up. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

Emilio scowls. “What could possibly be more important than supporting your family in a time of need?”

“Yeah, you got a hot date or something?” Luisa smirks.

“If you must know, I have an appointment with a contractor about the spa renovations. I’m assuming if it’s for business, I’m free to go? Or do I need to ask permission, Dad?”

Emilio grunts and turns back to Rose. He almost reaches for her hand again before he remembers himself. After a few seconds of fiddling (seems like it runs in the family, in the boys at least), he pulls out his phone, just to have something to do with his hands.

Rafael rolls his eyes behind his father’s back and raises a hand in farewell.

Rose watches the other two as he leaves. Emilio doesn’t bother saying goodbye at all, focused on his phone. Luisa frowns after her brother, something like apology written in her features. There’s something bigger here than what they’ve told her and she’s sure that if she had her memories, she’d be able to read the situation perfectly but as it is, she feels like she’s being deliberately kept in the dark. And she might not know anything about herself, but she knows that she hates having only half the puzzle pieces to work with, if that.

“Rafael’s right, Luisa, it’s late. You should go home. One of us should be well-rested, especially since Rose is out of the woods.”

“But Dad, I—” she starts to say, but with one look from her father, she sighs. “Fine. Good night.” Her gaze rests on Rose before she leaves. “Sweet dreams.”

“Good night,” Rose says softly, wondering if it’s strange to wish that your husband had gone home and your stepdaughter had stayed the night instead.


	2. Chapter 2

True to Dr. Johnson’s word, after a few mind-numbingly dull days under observation (during which no one will tell her anything of any importance for fear of her delicate disposition), she is allowed to go home. She’s wheeled out of the hospital to Emilio’s waiting car, feeling a bit like she’s lost a very violent bar fight. One arm is in a sling to support her broken collarbone, her other wrist is in a cast, she has a few broken ribs, and her bruises are starting to turn that lovely mottled mix of mulberry and jaundiced yellow.

Still, she can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as the hospital shrinks in the rearview mirror. She might not have any idea what waits for her at their destination, but whatever it is, it has to be better than laying on scratchy sheets for hours at end and having people walk on eggshells around her.

Fuzzy recognition, a feeling she’s starting to get very well acquainted with, prickles at the edge of her consciousness as Emilio turns into the drive whose sign proudly proclaims to be the Marbella. When he parks, he tosses his keys to the valet and is about to call for another wheelchair when Rose puts a clunky hand on his arm. “That’s not necessary,” she says. “Darling,” she tacks on, just to see how it feels. It sticks to the roof of her mouth, coming out with a barely noticeable stutter, but he beams as he gingerly helps her to her feet and supports her to their suite, and maybe that’s worth it. She should be putting  _ some _ effort into her marriage.

Rose imagines the “difficult” relationship Luisa says they had is because of her marriage to Emilio. It can’t be easy to see your father marry a woman his daughter’s age. Of course Luisa would resent her for taking up all Emilio’s time. Rose wonders if she was the sort of person that would try to combat Luisa’s disdain for her as her newest stepmother, or if she would’ve just ignored it and hoped for the best. Any way she looks at it, it sounds like an awkward situation. She can’t blame Luisa for disliking her but being thrust into this feud she no longer has any knowledge of is uncomfortable nonetheless.

The truth is it unsettles her the way she feels around Luisa. She doesn’t know what her subconscious is trying to tell her. This woman is her stepdaughter. If they actually do hate each other, then she shouldn’t feel safer around her than her own husband, right? And if there was something about Emilio she should be aware of, wouldn’t Luisa be the first person to tell her? And why doesn’t she feel much of anything for Rafael, if he’s also her stepchild? It doesn’t make any sense.

She needs more data points.

For the first day, Emilio is the epitome of a doting husband. He fluffs her pillows, he changes her ice packs every hour, he sits through hours of The Bachelorette. (Rose realizes she doesn’t even like reality TV all that much, but his dedication to her comfort is touching.) It isn’t until the evening that Luisa comes by. And Rose is disheartened by how much seeing her lifts her mood.

“Luisa, thank god you’re here,” Emilio says, sounding just as relieved as Rose feels. “Would you mind sitting with Rose for a bit while I return this call?”

She frowns. “Dad, she has amnesia, she’s not some child you have to watch constantly.”

But Emilio is already on the phone and doesn’t hear her.

Luisa takes his seat at her bedside anyway. “So how’s it been so far?”

“Fine.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You don’t have to lie, you know. Not with—” She cuts herself off and clears her throat, but the “not with me” hangs in the air, pressing down on them like 80% humidity.

Rose follows Luisa’s lead and ignores it. “I mean it. It hasn’t been bad. Emilio’s been waiting on me hand and foot. We’re just about to start the first part of the season finale of the Bachelorette.”

“You don’t sound very excited about that.”

She shrugs. “These men are all so bland. I don’t care about any of them, and Ali deserves better.”

Luisa looks like she’s about to laugh. She has an idea why Rose wouldn’t find men, who are arguably all attractive, interesting at all but she fights it down, schools her face.

“What?” Rose asks, a little defensive.

“You look so bored when you talk about it. I guess I don’t understand why you watched an entire season of this if you’re not invested.”

Rose frowns but presses play. For several minutes, there’s no sound but the two finalists trying to intimidate each other with some posturing and macho words. Rose is staring hard at the TV when she finally says, “I know that everyone keeps saying that they’re here for support until I get back on my feet again, but I can’t help thinking that it’s just...words. And if the case is that I’ll never get my memories back again, that I’ll be on my own. So I guess this,” she gestures to the TV, “is me testing the boundaries of what people are willing to put up with. I’d rather find out early if this isn’t going to work out than wait until I’m settled and have the rug pulled out from under me.”

“Oh, Rose…”

She buries her face in her hands. “I’ve said too much. Don’t look at me. I don’t want your pity.”

So she doesn’t see when Luisa rolls her eyes and clambers into the bed next to her, pressing her arm against Rose’s side.

“Ow!” Rose says, but more out of surprise than actual pain. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, did I bump your injuries? I’m sorry. Does it hurt? Do you want me to get you another ice pack?”

Rose shakes her head. To her relief, Emilio has been pretty good about respecting her boundaries, but she wasn’t aware of how comforting it was to have someone squished next to you until now. It’s nice that there’s no pressure, she realizes. Having Emilio hold her hand all the time is supposed to provide comfort, yes, but she knows he’s expecting her memories to return at some point. It feels weighted, like an exchange. But it feels like she and Luisa are just having a deceptively casual conversation while watching TV, and most importantly, not looking at each other. Of course, some of Rose’s magnanimity fades when Luisa says:

“But I’m  _ not _ feeling sorry for you. There’s a difference. I was just about to call you an idiot.”

“What for?”

“Because you’re being stupid, that’s why. You’re part of this family and if there’s one thing Dad won’t budge on, it’s that. We weren’t lying when we said we’d do anything for you.”

But Rose isn’t so easily placated. “What about all your other stepmothers? Are they still part of the family?”

“Ah.” Luisa sighs. “I hate that even without your law experience, you’re still such a lawyer.”

“Well?”

“No, I guess not. Listen, I can’t speak for Dad, but know that I’ll always be here for you, even if you get divorced.”

Rose narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I…” Her eyes are soft before she looks away. “Because that’s what decent people do. I’ve made enough mistakes for a lifetime. I’m not going to abandon you when you need me too.”

“Speaking of family, do I have any of my own? Are they flying in or something?”

Luisa cocks her head. “No, actually. You’re an only child and while you were in law school, your dad died from aggressive cancer and your mom died a few months later from a heart attack. You said it was probably from grief.”

“Wow, that sounds...tragic.” It does. But she steels herself for a surge of pain that never comes. “I’m glad I don’t remember any of that.”

Luisa nods. “You don’t really ever talk about them. I don’t know anything about them besides their names were Tom and Betty Kinsella.”

“Huh.” She feels detached. It’s odd to hear about her life like she’s a stranger. She supposes that this will be another feeling that will be popping up frequently in the coming days.

Emilio pokes his head in through the doorway. “Is she treating you well, darling?”

“She is behaving herself,” Luisa says in her own defense.

“So you won’t mind if I pop into the office for a few minutes just to wrap up a few loose ends?”

Luisa starts to say something but Rose raises her voice. “Of course not. Take your time.”

Luisa sighs when he leaves. “You know you’ve just given him blanket permission to prioritize his work over you, right?”

“I don’t mind,” Rose says quietly.

They watch Ali sob for a few moments in silence before Luisa says, “How are you settling in, though? Is there anything else we can do to make it more comfortable for you?”

“I don’t know. You said these are your family’s personal suites?”

“Yeah.”

“Year round?”

“I mean, Dad spends his summers in Croatia, but this is his primary residence. Raf’s too.”

“But not yours?”

Luisa tenses. “No, we—my ex and I—had a condo in South Beach, but after...everything fell apart, she’s staying there. And I decided to move back in. It’s nice that everything’s just like how I left it.”

Rose is morbidly curious about Luisa’s marriage but she has enough restraint not to push it when she’s so obviously uncomfortable discussing it.

Instead she says, “I don’t know what the regular suites look like, but I don’t think they’d look all that different from these suites. There’s not any...individuality? Nothing personal about the decor. It doesn’t seem like people live here permanently.” Honestly, she’s disappointed that there aren’t any family photos. No hints to tell her who she might’ve been before.

Luisa nods. “Dad’s not big into homey touches. And he likes to always have things be picture perfect. I guess there’s not really any point when he’s always in a different city every night. For work.” Rose notes the hint of bitterness in her last two words. Emilio definitely gives off workaholic vibes.

They lapse into silence for the rest of the episode, only breaking it to make a comment here and there on whatever twist the producers have come up with.

When the episode ends, Luisa gets off the bed. “Do you want anything before I leave?”

“Oh. You’re leaving?” Rose hates how small her voice comes out.

“You should go to sleep. It’ll help with your recovery.” She smiles. “Besides, I’m not going far. Just heading across the hall.”

“See you tomorrow?”

Her smile stretches into a grin. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’ve got nothing but time now that I’ve been fired.”

“Fired?” Raf had only mentioned that she was going through a career change.

“Yeah.” Her smile fades for a moment before it comes back full force. “But I’ll tell you tomorrow. Gotta keep you wanting.”

“I don’t think you have any trouble with that.”

They both freeze. Fear is written all over Luisa’s expression. Rose doesn’t know why but she feels like she’s overstepped some invisible line she wasn’t even aware of until this very minute.

Finally, Luisa backs away. “Well, if you don’t need anything before I go…”

“No.”

“Night, then.”

“Good night.”

Despite Luisa’s advice, she watches the second part of the season finale too. Actually, just mindlessly staring at the TV is probably more apt, although the engagement does catch her attention. There’s something that turns her stomach watching the stereotypical romantic imagery and the swelling music and the couple’s feigned smiles for the camera. It’s so forced. A display for the hungry voyeurs at home wishing for a fairytale ending. Rose turns off the TV and starts painstakingly getting ready for bed.

In the light of day, she could just be spending another day in the hospital but in the dark of the night, something changes. The bed itself is comfortable enough, but that this is  _ her _ bed, that she has no recollection of ever sleeping in, throws her. She’s dozing when Emilio enters the room to get to the bathroom.

Rose is instantly awake, every muscle strained, clenching the sheets between her fists. As the sink runs, she works herself into an increasing state of panic. The engagement montage plays over and over in her head. The sunset, the music, their glazed eyes, and plastic simpers. She and Emilio are married, after all and he has every right to share the bed. Technically, his bed. This whole hotel is his. But even if he doesn’t expect any marital duties of her (which she doesn’t think he will, if she’s reading him right), just the thought of accidentally rolling over and waking up entangled with this man who is basically a stranger makes her break out into a cold sweat.  _ Oh god, what if he sleeps naked? _

He is thankfully in silk pajamas when he finds her sitting straight up in bed when he leaves the bathroom, accompanied by a whiff of mint. He pauses next to her as she stares at him with wide eyes.

“I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with yet. Good night, darling.” He moves forward, as if to touch her, but seems to think better of it at the last second. That’s been happening a lot. Rose is grateful he remembers.

She slowly opens her fists and breathes a sigh of relief when she hears him moving around in the room next door. She’s shifting around, trying to find the right position to fall asleep in when there’s a very faint vibrating sound. It’s barely audible but now that she’s tuned into it, she can’t ignore it. After a few minutes of persistence, she gets up to shut it off. She follows the sound into the bathroom, into the back of the cabinet, into a box of pantyliners. Her hand closes around a phone. But when she pulls it out, she realizes it’s a flip phone, not her usual iphone. The screen says unknown number. She stares at it for a second before she opens it.

“Hello?”

An angry string of gibberish assaults her ears. She’s so startled she hangs up. There’s a minute or two of silence, and then the phone starts to buzz again. It’s the unknown number again. Rose buries it back into the box of pantyliners.

It’s obviously hers. No one else would hide a disposable phone in a box of feminine hygiene products in this bathroom. Who is she? Why does she need a separate phone? The plot thickens. But it’s too late to be chasing down her past self’s secrets.

It isn’t until she’s back in bed, on the cusp between hazy consciousness and falling asleep that she realizes that she recognized the German words for “clients”, “profits”, and “deadlines.”

It’s probably just some residual high school German, she thinks before she drifts off to sleep.

...

Rose wakes at exactly 6am, just like she has for the past few days, or at least that she remembers. It must be a regular occurrence for her because no matter how much she tosses or turns, her body won’t go back to sleep.

She’s been told that she used to be a lawyer, before she gave it up to become a trophy wife (Luisa’s words, said so mildly she wonders if there’s something more to it) so she doesn’t understand why she’d need to be up so early. Well, this is the first day she’s woken up in her own room without adult supervision. She might as well take a look around.

The first thing she does is dump the contents of her purse onto the bed. It seems like she shares her husband’s sensibilities. There’s nothing particularly personal to be found.

Her wallet contains $50, insurance cards, a few credit cards (a personal one, what looks like a Marbella company card, and a Neiman Marcus charge card), and her driver’s license. She squints at it. Her own face smiles placidly back at her. Her full name is listed as Rose Elizabeth Solano. She’s a capricorn. Weird.

Other than that, she has a packet of tissues, a bag of makeup, her keys (apparently she’s a fan of hot yoga?), and her phone. She’s holding it in her good hand and straining to remember a passcode when her thumb brushes the fingerprint sensor and it lets her in. Good thinking on her past self’s behalf.

Both her email and her calendar are clogged with business events and meet-ups with people she doesn’t know and doesn’t care about (although interestingly enough, it looks like she was originally in charge of the spa renovations, not Rafael.) The only people she recognizes in her texts are Rafael, Darling❤ (ugh), and Petra. They’re all short, impersonal messages, things like “running late. Be there in ten” or “remember Louis doesn’t like butter with his lobster.” She doesn’t even have Luisa in her contacts, fueling her theory that they don’t like each other at all.

So why is Luisa being so nice to her now? What’s her motive?

She does, however, stumble across a text conversation that gives her pause. Her past self seemed to have quite a sweet tooth. About every few months or so, she’d text an Angel’s Artisanal Donuts everyday for an order of powdered sugar, delivered asap. She frowns. Can’t you just get powdered sugar donuts from a vending machine? This shop must be something special if she was willing to get them delivered. But when she googles the name, nothing comes up. Curiouser and curiouser.

The bathroom yields nothing but a smattering of hair products and makeup. Her side of the closet is nothing but tasteful clothes. She looks over her collection of jewelry but deduces nothing except that she has a fondness for rose gold.

Emilio did mention that she has an office at the Marbella. Perhaps something will turn up there.

But speak of the devil, she scrambles back into bed as fast as she can when she hears footsteps from the next room. There’s a knock on the door and then Emilio himself enters. “Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

...

Every day for the next few weeks is the same. She’ll wake up at six, snoop around for a bit. Occasionally, she’ll run into something worrying, like the time she found a loaded gun in one of her unused handbags. But for the most part, she doesn’t find much of anything. Around seven, Emilio will come in to “wake her up.”

Rose still needs help with showering and going to the bathroom but after she said that she wasn’t comfortable having him help her, Emilio hired a female nurse to stay on as long as her injuries are still bothering her.

To his credit, he never pushes but she does get the impression that he is frustrated that her memory doesn’t show any sign of returning. He stays by her side, fetching whatever she needs, at least until Luisa shows up, usually around noon-ish. Then he’ll go off to make phone calls or run down to the office or meet potential clients.

(Once, Luisa had rolled her eyes. “I give him a week before he goes off on one of his trips and leaves you to fend for yourself.”

“Fend for myself? I’m not an invalid. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need anyone,” she’d said, bristling.

“How’s getting dressed by yourself working out for you?”

Rose didn’t say anything.

“There’s nothing wrong with needing some help,” Luisa had said finally, her voice quiet.

Rose feels like there’s a story behind that, but it’d felt too raw to ask right then.)

Luisa refuses to let Rose lay in bed all day and watch TV like she wants to.

“But Luisa, Ross is just about to confess his love to Rachel!”

She wrinkles her nose. “Trust me, down that way lies heartbreak for all parties involved. You can afford to put that off. Come on, we’re going for a walk.”

Rose splays out on the bed and draped an arm over her face. “How can you force me out of bed when I’m grievously injured?”

“Don’t be dramatic. Didn’t you literally say you weren’t an invalid a few days ago?”

Rose peeks at her from under her arm. “That’s different.”

“How so?”

“Because dressing myself is something I want to do. I don’t want to go on a walk,” she says, her voice just on the edge of a whine.

“That’s too bad. Doctor’s orders.”

“Whose?”

“Mine.” She starts to pull her out of bed by her feet.

“You’re an obgyn!” Rose protests as she grabs onto the headboard with her good hand.

“I still went to med school. And I don’t even need my degree to tell you that there’s nothing wrong with your legs.”

“You told me you’d tell me why you were fired and you never did.”

“Tell you what, you go on a walk with me and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Rose narrows her eyes. “Anything?”

A muscle twitches in Luisa’s eye before she says, “Anything.”

_ Lie _ , Rose realizes but at this point she’ll take what she can get. She gazes longingly at Ross and Rachel frozen on the screen before she lets go of the headboard. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

She’ll never admit it, but it’s nice to feel the sun on her skin after days of being indoors. Luisa leads her through the lobby, greeting all the staff by name, and out the back, where there’s a quiet garden. They walk in silence for a minute before Luisa takes a breath.

“What you need to understand is that this was an honest mistake. That doesn’t excuse it, of course, but there were...certain circumstances that led up to it. I guess it all starts at Raf’s party.”

Rose listens silently as Luisa speaks, gesticulating wildly at times and almost bursting into tears periodically. It’s clear that she’s been trying to say all this out loud for a while now.

“And that’s the story of how I inseminated the wrong woman and lost my job.”

“Oh.”

Luisa hangs her head. “You must think I’m so stupid and irresponsible.”

Rose’s first instinct is to reach out and comfort her, but she checks herself. She’s probably overstepping. “I don’t. It’s understandable, considering what you’re going through. It’s unfortunate that she got pregnant, but hasn’t Rafael always wanted to be a father? And from what you said, it doesn’t seem like he loves Petra anymore.”

“No.”

“So he gets to have a child and doesn’t have to stay with his wife. It’s not well, conventional, but it sounds like it’ll work out for him.”

“He’s still angry with me,” she whispers, scuffing her sandal against the ground.

“Of course, he didn’t want a child right now, but he’ll come around. You’ll see. He’s your brother.”

Luisa hums doubtfully.

“But how are  _ you _ faring?”

Luisa raises her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Rafael might be struggling with the idea of becoming a father and divorcing Petra, but you’re dealing with some shit too. You just lost your job, your wife cheated on you, and it’s stressing your sobriety. Are you going to be okay?”

“I will be.” She gives her a small smile. “I’m tougher than I look.”

And despite her best efforts, Rose feels her expression soften. “I have no doubt.”

They sit for a while longer before Luisa declares that she’s feeling like a walk on the beach. True to her word, Luisa answers every question Rose throws at her, although they’re mostly harmless, things like what her sign is and her favorite color and her hobbies. Rose toys with the idea of asking what exactly she needs to hide an extra phone and a gun and if she's ever heard of Angel's Artisanal Donuts, but something holds her back. Even with her limited knowledge, she knows these are dangerous secrets. Besides, sharing them when Luisa has so much on her plate seems selfish.

It’s early evening when they get back.

The slight sunburn Rose gets on the bridge of her nose is worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for being patient with me. I've been going back to school and I really don't wanna fuck it up this time. Unfortunately that means less time for writing. I'm getting a little rusty. I don't even know if this chapter makes narrative sense. But going forward, updates will be very sporadic. Please subscribe to this fic to get an email when I update so you don't have to check back everyday.

As the weeks go by and Rose’s injuries start to disappear, Luisa becomes more forceful about getting Rose out of bed.

Rose resists at first until she realizes that this is a prime opportunity for snooping. She wanders the halls of the Marbella like a ghost, going wherever she pleases. Whether Emilio has warned that she’s not to be impeded or not, the staff don’t stop her, only nodding civilly at her whenever they cross paths with her.

Early on, she finds her office. She happens to have her keys on her, and the door slides open silently. It has the heavy musty smell of not being occupied for some time. It’s just as impersonal at her suite. She runs her fingers across the spines of the few books on her shelf: Milton, Machiavelli, Chomsky, Camus. How pretentious.

She digs through her desk but all that turns up are plans for the spa renovation. Scowling, she tosses the files on top of her desk and collapses into the chair, propping her feet up on the desk and steepling her fingers together.

It’s obvious she had some big secret. Normal, happy people don’t hide loaded guns and burner phones in their belongings. She’s running out of places to look though, and until she finds out what the full scope of her secret, she doesn’t feel comfortable divulging details to anyone. The only thing she can think of is maybe Emilio is abusive? And she was planning on getting away from him? He’s been very gentle, if a little absent-minded, with her. He doesn’t seem like the type but then again, in the last few weeks they’ve been spending less and less time together.

Rose picks up the files and checks the hallway for passersby before she pushes open the door to the office next to hers. This is Rafael’s. Although it’s very similar to her office, it looks much more lived in. There’s a laptop humming softly on top of papers strewn all over the desk. Several boards are propped up against the wall of what look like mockups of the spa. And there on one of the adjoining walls is a hideous bit of metallic art that Rose knows immediately hides a safe. She can see the hinges from here. But before she can take more than a step in its direction, Rafael enters.

“Rose!” he says, surprise written all over his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I got...confused. You know, with the amnesia and everything.” She chuckles. “I was looking for my office but I guess I wandered into the wrong one. Silly me.”

In the rare occasion that someone does stop and question her, she finds that bringing up her amnesia is a surefire way to get them off her case. It’s very much come in handy. Now, if she could only figure out what she was up to before she lost her memories…

“Your office is the one next door. There are names on the plaques,” he adds helpfully.

“Sometimes I get these migraines that come out of nowhere,” she says, playing it up a little by rubbing her temple. “They make it hard to read, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

He steps forward, his hands held out in concern, but he doesn’t touch her. “Shouldn’t you be laying down then instead of being out and about?”

“Oh no, it’s fine.” She subtly steps out of his reach. “They’re gone almost as soon as they come.” She nods at the boards. “These are for the upgrades?”

He settles into the chair behind his desk and rubs his eyes. “Yeah, but there’s something off about them and I can’t figure out what.”

Rose crosses her arms, one hand on her mouth as she considers. The answer swims to the forefront of her mind and before she realizes it, she says, “Have you tried more blues, less greens?”

He leans forward and cocks his head. “You’re right, actually. That might be it.”

“And add a screening room,” she hears herself say.

He turns to look at her, almost frowning. “Are your memories coming back?”

She strains for something, anything else, but like her imaginary migraines, whatever compelled her to reevaluate Rafael’s color palette is gone.

“No…” she says finally. “I don’t know what that was. It just came to me. I did find these in my things, though.” She hands over the files from her office. “Maybe they’ll be of some use.”

He flips through them. “These are exactly what I need to finish this project up. Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”

“This spa thing is really keeping you busy, huh?”

She meant it purely as smalltalk, but he ducks his head and swings back and forth in his chair. “Yeah. I’m sorry I haven’t been by to see you. This and Jane’s pregnancy and trying to figure things out with Petra has been a nightmare.”

She takes a seat across from him, trying not to look too eager. “Oh? What’s been going on?”

And as Rafael rambles on and on about how hard his life is, Rose can feel one more puzzle piece fit into place.

By the time Rose sees herself out, she’s gotten more context and information in this half hour than she has in several weeks of being coddled by everyone else. As much time as she spends with Luisa, she realizes Luisa excels in filling conversation with nothing of substance at all.

...

The next morning Rose gets a text from Petra.

**P:** You and I are having lunch today. Stella’s?

**R:** Is that where we usually get lunch?

**P:** We don’t usually get lunch

**R:** Then why are we getting lunch today?

**P:** I’ll tell you when you get there. 11?

**R:** Okay...

It’s only when Rose steps out from the Uber that she realizes that she has no idea what Petra looks like. She scowls. Damn this family and their absolute refusal to have any normal family photos for her to gain her bearings from.

Before she can work herself into a rage though, a leggy blonde strides toward her. “Rose, there you are. Come, I already got our usual table.” Her voice is lightly accented, but Rose can’t tell with what.

“I thought you said we don’t usually do this,” Rose says as Petra steers her to a table by the boardwalk.

“We don’t.” At Rose’s frown, she adds, “Look, it’s basically a promotion, okay? Stella’s gets a boost in interest and the paparazzi get to see the Solano women getting along, even if it’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Paparazzi?”

“Mmhmm,” Petra says from behind her menu. “You don’t get to marry into one of the richest families in Miami without turning a few heads. Speaking of which, don’t look, but there’s one at 9 o’clock.”

“My 9 o’clock or yours?” Rose whispers.

“Mine, of course.”

Rose glances out of the corner of her eye and sure enough, there’s a woman eating lunch trying to take a sneaky photo of the two of them with her phone.

“So they know about the accident.”

“Unfortunately, but the interest’s really died down in the past month. Besides, they only hound us if it’s been quiet or something really terrible happened to us, like if a dead body showed up at the Marbella. Otherwise there are plenty of more high-profile celebrities to ogle. The public’s much more interested in who JLo’s new boytoy is. Do you want a drink? I want a drink. Where’s the waiter?”

“Wait, you said we don’t get along?”

“Eh.” Petra lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “We get along, I suppose, but we’re much too alike to be close.” She flags down a waiter. “Yes, I’m in the mood for a mojito. Rose? Do you want anything?”

“No. Just water is fine for me, thank you.”

“Ready to order?”

“I haven’t even looked at the menu. I’m still trying to make sense of why we’re here in the first place.”

“Well, hurry it up. I only have an hour for lunch. I can’t sit here all day and baby you.”

Despite her pushiness, Rose finds she likes Petra. She’s the only one that hasn’t handled her like she’s made out of glass.

Petra sips at her drink, looking mildly bored, as Rose asks her questions rapidfire. Half the time Petra’s answers open up a whole slew of new questions.

“So,” Petra says as the waiter lays the appetizer (a dozen oysters) between them. “A little birdy told me Rafael talked to you yesterday.”

Rose blinks. “He didn’t tell you himself?”

Petra smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “Well, I’m guessing he told you that he wants a divorce. Good communication is usually not a precursor to one.”

Rose gasps, placing a hand on her chest in mock-offense. “And here I thought you just wanted to catch up with your stepmother-in-law. I hadn’t even met you yet, post accident.” When Petra doesn’t say anything, she adds, “Let me guess, work kept you outrageously busy.”

“There’s certainly that. And Rafael. I don’t know how to hold onto him. Not to mention, my mother’s been especially unbearable recently. And the two of them together in a room is an ordeal at best.”

“You don’t want a divorce.”

“No.” She downs an oyster like a shot.

“What happened to him, then?”

“He was different after the cancer.”

“He had  _ cancer _ ?”

“I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you. He doesn’t like to talk about it. Testicular cancer, at his age. Of course, we probably started falling apart when I miscarried. Being a father is very important to him. He’s been spending a lot of time with this Jane girl.”

It’s a lot to take in. Rose isn’t sure what to say. She makes a half-hearted move to take Petra’s hand but Petra moves it to her lap. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard for you.”

Petra shrugs and eats a few more oysters. “It was a long time ago,” she says in a neutral voice.

“Do you...want to talk about it?”

“God no. I’ve talked enough about it for several lifetimes over.”

Rose is quietly relieved. She doesn’t know the first thing about comforting this prickly woman. The waiter returns. Petra orders the swordfish; Rose gets the cioppino.

Petra sighs. “I suppose the divorce shouldn’t come as a surprise. He hasn’t touched me in nearly a year and a woman has needs, you know.”

Rose nods hesitantly. She hopes it’s not apparent that she has no idea what Petra’s talking about. In the nearly two months after she left the hospital, she hasn’t craved Emilio’s touch at all.

“Still, I was hoping he’d hold out for another year at least,” Petra continues, taking a hearty swig of her mojito. “The prenup is for $10 million after five years. Mother and I could live out the rest of our lives in America, if not Miami, on that sort of money.”

“You mentioned she and Rafael don’t get along.”

She snorts. “That’s one way of putting it. She’s rather...” she pauses, measuring her words before she says, “abrasive. I suppose I take after her. And of course Rafael isn’t happy about living with his mother-in-law.”

“Can’t you find somewhere else for her to live? You can give her a stipend.”

Petra laughs. Not one of those tinkly socialite laughs Rose was expecting, but something rough and sharp around the edges. It would betray her, Rose thinks, if Petra hadn’t already admitted it. That she wasn’t born into this world; she clawed her way up to the top.

“You haven’t met my mother,” Petra says. “She gets what she wants and what she wants is to keep an eye on me so she can stop me from screwing everything up.”

“Screwing what up?”

Petra gestures in a sweeping motion with her drink. “This. Miami. The Marbella. Rafael. Everything. I only made it this far through luck. Everything else was by her design.”

Rose narrows her eyes. Something about the way Petra talks about her mother rings a note of familiarity in her. She can’t imagine why though since her own mother’s long gone. Perhaps she had a strained relationship with her as well.

“Your mother doesn’t do your work at the Marbella for you. You seem perfectly capable to me,” Rose says.

The waiter places their entrees before them.

“That’s nice of you to say,” Petra says, cutting into her swordfish, “but I wouldn’t have a job at the Marbella if it weren’t for her.”

Rose blinks. “She got you this job?”

“In an indirect sort of way.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother worked two jobs and told fortunes at night on the side all my life to keep us afloat, and eventually it was enough to save up for a violin and lessons. After that, I busked when I wasn’t in school. There were some complicated matters with an ex-boyfriend, but she saved me from a faceful of acid and we were able to immigrate to America. I was busking one day on the beach. She saw Lachlan come by and made me trip into him.”

“Who’s Lachlan?”

Petra waves her fork in an elegant, dismissive way. “My ex-fiance. Emilio’s prodigy. Rafael’s boss.”

Rose whistles. “That’s ambitious of you.”

“Yes, well, the way things turned out, Rafael and I ended up getting married. None of this would’ve happened if it hadn’t been for my mother, as difficult to live with as she is. And besides, she has a huge scar on her face from the acid  _ and _ she’s in a wheelchair. Who would I be if I abandoned her now?”

“I get it.” At Petra’s incredulous expression, she adds, “I do. I don’t remember why, but there’s this guilt sitting heavy on my chest.” She rubs at her sternum. It does nothing to dispel the feeling. “And it must be something in my past, because I don’t remember if I’ve even met your mother.”

“You have. At my wedding.”

“Oh. Did I like her?”

“No.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected considering what you’ve told me about her. Anyway, for whatever reason, I think I know what you’re feeling. But consider that not living with your mother is nowhere in the same ballpark as abandoning her.”

Petra purses her lips. “That’s easy for you to say. It’s different for Americans. Family units here are much more nuclear. I remember feeling so scandalized when I overheard a girl saying that the moment her parents got too old to take care of themselves, she was sending them straight to a nursing home. I can’t leave her. I’m her only source of income, and that’s firmly dependent on if Rafael plans on cutting me out of his life before the pre-nup comes to term.”

Rose sighs and sits back. “It sounds like you have a lot on your plate.”

Petra shrugs. “As stressful as my situation is, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep me and my mother off the streets. The worst day at the Marbella couldn’t compare to what a regular day busking is like.”

“I wish I had better advice for you, but it’s hard without really knowing all these people you’re talking about.” Rose gives her a half-smile, motioning toward her temple.

“You know,” Petra says, stirring the ice in her drink with the straw. “You’re different now.”

“Losing all your memories will do that to you,” Rose says dryly.

“No, it’s not that. You’re...softer now.”

Rose has to mull on that.

At a quarter to noon, Petra drives them back to the Marbella. Rose hesitates before she unbuckles her seatbelt.

“This was better than I was expecting it would be, especially with your ominous text.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

Rose licks her lips. “Would you...consider maybe doing it again?”

“I’m a very busy woman, Rose. Some of us don’t have the convenient excuse of having amnesia to get us out of work.” Rose has already opened the door when Petra adds, “However, I suppose I could fit you in on a recurring basis. Maybe every other week?”

Rose smiles. “Sure.”

“That’s not a guarantee. Talk to Krishna. She’ll let you know if I have openings.”

“Bye, Petra,” Rose says in a slightly sing-song voice as she slams the door.

Petra was right, Rose thinks as she makes her way back to her suite. She sees some of herself in Petra and vice versa, but she’s not sure how much yet.

…

Rose has dinner with Emilio that night at the Marbella restaurant. Alone. It was supposed to be a family affair, but everyone else has bowed out, citing everything from work (of course) to baby mama drama. Rose is not as disappointed as she thought she would be. Petra has given her a lot to think about.

“How was your day, darling?” he asks as he scoops green beans onto his plate.

“Good. Petra invited me out to lunch.”

“It’s always nice to see Petra reaching out to people. I was worried—privately of course—when Rafael proposed that she was too standoffish to get along with the rest of the family but I’ve been pleasantly surprised.” He pauses to eat a forkful of sweet potatoes. “Then again, that ruthless attitude has been such an asset to the company.”

Rose blinks. This is more she’s gotten out of him in weeks.

He takes a sip of his wine. “Did she bite?”

“No, it was perfectly fine. It was nice to get to know her. We’re thinking of doing it again.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really? She said that?”

“Well, she told me to ask Krishna about her schedule.”

“That’s basically a yes from Petra.”

There’s a bit of an awkward silence while Rose tries not to scrape her silverware on her plate. Her mind is spinning. Has he always been like this? This open and willing to talk? Has she just been pushing him away? She clears her throat. “Did you do anything out of the ordinary today?”

“Not really. I’ve been busy trying to secure a zoning permit for a hotel in Palermo. The Italian government and their bureaucracy, you know how it is.”

“I don’t, but I can imagine it must be very stressful.”

He winces. “I’m sorry. Sometimes you’re so much like your old self, I forget about your accident.”

“Am I?” She feels like this conversation is the wide-open sea and she’s barely keeping her head above water. Is she giving off the same impression she did before her amnesia?

He nods, then he shakes his head. “Okay, you got me. We’re in quite a predicament, aren’t we?” He smiles slightly, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “You’re still trying to get to know me but we’re already married. You must be so confused.”

Rose reaches out to place her hand lightly on his. “I don’t know what to do, d-darling.”

He turns his palm up, lacing their fingers together. “What do you want? What do you think will help? Name it and I’d do it.”

She looks at his earnest face and feels more bewildered than ever. There’s a part of her that knows, beyond a doubt, that she will never fall in love with this man. Again. If she ever loved him in the first place. And yes, she is absolutely terrified of any sort of sexual intimacy with him, but he has been good to her. She knows if he’s always been like this, then it wouldn’t be hard to tolerate him at worst. Maybe even grow fond of him. 

And then there’s the troubling feelings that she thought would fade with more exposure to Luisa, but haven’t. If anything, they’ve been taking their time simmering within her, reduced to a potent, concentrated form. (She needs to stop watching Food Network.)

But she can’t be _ gay _ . She didn’t feel anything like that when she met Petra, although Petra is undoubtedly an attractive woman. Sure, she gave her a onceover, but  _ everyone _ does that. Especially in Miami. Petra is blonde with legs for days and has a perfectly proportioned face that she scrunches into the most amazing of expressions;  _ of course _ Rose is going to check her out.

For the briefest of seconds,  _ am I gay _ flits across her mind before she forcibly grabs the thought and shoves it into a box that she crams into a bigger box, mails it to herself, and smashes it with a hammer the size of New Jersey.

“Darling?” Emilio asks, shaking her out of her thoughts.

“I’m sorry, it’s the amnesia.” She brings a hand to her temple. “It’s the amnesia. It impairs my focus and concentration. What did you say?”

He pats their hands with his other one. “I was just wondering if there’s anything else I can do to help you. But don’t worry about it if it’s too stressful to think about. Are you feeling okay? Do you have a headache? Do you want to go to bed early?”

“No, I—”

But she’s saved from answering when Emilio’s phone rings. He frowns down at the number and then stands, dropping his napkin onto his chair. “I’m sorry. I have to take this. It’s about the zoning permit.”

“Oh, of course.”

“I’m sorry, darling.” And he does look rueful, but she only sees it for a second before he walks out of the room, bringing the phone up to his ear and slipping into Italian.

Rose is alone in their private booth with a straight view of the beach. She takes a mouthful of white wine she knows she shouldn’t be having, but Emilio had ordered for her, and lets it seep into her taste buds. She knows that if she stays with him, this will be a recurring experience. Like Luisa said, Rose will never be more important to him than his work. She swallows and lets herself breathe out the tiniest sigh. He was right about one thing. She needs to figure out what she wants. Is it different from what Past Rose wanted?

Who was she? But the more she learns, the more muddled she becomes.


End file.
